Monday, September 26, 2016

Are There Ever Enough Bombs Around?

I don’t think there is ever enough, for all of us. There’s just not enough of it around….Maybe only if another carpet, blanket, full out bombing should take place, as it was during the last two global purges.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Note To Self

When done with chasing a prey, it is always, always preferable to have whip cream at hand for the icing of the cake….

You can never have enough whip cream. Never.

Friday, September 23, 2016


A healthy society is always in need of perversions, of the tastiest, bloodiest, most sanguinary kind. Otherwise, one is likely to end up with an unhealthy, repressive society where perversions are mutated into lynch mobs and public mutilations.

There should always be a few sacrifices, for the health of the many. 

Sunday, September 18, 2016


Dreams are mirrors to the sleepless ether around and throughout us all. A ripple in the omnipresent and omniscience reflected through waves in our dreams. At least that’s what an old and lonely guru once told someone,  

Wonder if the old fart is still dreaming or rippling through one’s dream, after all those years of being hacked and buried somewhere deep in the evergreen woods.  

Wonder if it was him who made that rippling turbulence of a multi headed bitch in red that one ends up dreaming of raping and hacking and burying deep in an evergreen woods….  

She was so red, she looked like a flower, dipped in blood and the crimson  sunset. Beautifully red. Obscenely red.

Friday, September 16, 2016

When The Tables Are Turned

It’s intriguing how cool or even funny it is to talk about evil deeds or watch others get victimized by it, from afar. 

It’s a completely different thing when evil deeds are staring one straight on the eye and face, with all the exquisite pain and discomfort that it entails.

And yet there is no better taste of truth, no better catharsis, than to confront one’s demon up close and personal.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

The Principal of Qisas

Everyone needs a little closure, every now and then. A little retribution to ease the gaping, wounded, pesky bitch called sadness aka lost aka cry baby aka hatred. 

Of course, as the principle of nature dictates, for every act there is bound to be a reaction, and therefore a never ending cycle of glorious hate and bloodlust, ad infinitum. 

Then, of course, you can always savor the insults, the hatred, the pulsating lust for vengeance. Slow burn for better times when no one expects it, and when the pleasure will double and triple by every slash and hack. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2016


“I remember”, he said with a faint smile, “how one chemically induced trip, back in the 60s, had once taken me up a rainbow, which I proceeded to lick. I remember it tasted a little salty and sugary. Almost like blood. It smelled like blood too, that was until I realized, of course, it was the blood running down the broken needle.” 

“Those were the day”, he said in between the looming darkness, “When I was walking mighty tall and proud, on the wheels of fire” 

Sunday, August 14, 2016


If truth actually originates as facts steeped in fiction, which then begets more fictionalized truth intermingled with plain facts, what part of it is a plain fucked up myth

Oh well, got to love the sweet beheading girl, regardless. Let the misanthropy gets younger and younger still.

Saturday, August 13, 2016